


Selective Slaughter

by myriadofnothing



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode: S04E04 Talk (Better Call Saul), Gen, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadofnothing/pseuds/myriadofnothing
Summary: Nacho saves a slave.  A ficlet.
Kudos: 13
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Selective Slaughter

**Author's Note:**

> No. 4—Caged
> 
> Spoilers for Season 4.

The slave had kept quiet, no doubt hoping he would escape the same fate as the Espinosas if he went unnoticed. Marco and Leonel were already on their way out of the compound, sirens raised in the distance. Nacho struggled more slowly behind them, clutching his abdomen. That was why he was still close enough to hear furtive movements inside, beyond a door held yawning open by a facedown body in a plaid shirt. Nacho paused to listen: small creaking groans of metal joints leaned upon; the scratch of rust grating on rust; little clinks of a small metal object jostling on a larger one; a voiceless consonant, like then end of a whispered curse.

Marco turned to see what was taking him so long. Nacho gestured to the doorway.

The cage was in the back of a closet, easily overlooked by the Salamancas sweeping for fighting men and not slaves. The slave had his hand through the bars, desperately fiddling at the latch and lock. Nacho reflexively blocked Marco from aiming his gun.

“Wait,” he said.

The slave froze to see them.

Marco looked at Nacho with perturbed tolerance, waiting for an explanation of what he should wait for. Nacho realized that an objection to killing non-combatants on moral grounds was going to be a non-starter. That the slave might have information was also moot. They didn’t come here for information; they came for retribution.

“Why waste good stock?” Nacho said.

Marco looked at him like he had three heads. They had just recovered six kilos of meth and wiped out an entire gang, and Nacho wanted to delay for this? He raised his gun. The slave scrambled back with a shout; both Nacho and the slave flinched at the shot. It didn’t strike flesh, though; it took the lock off the cage. Marco dragged the slave out and frisked him quickly. The slave reacted on pure animal instinct, struggling abortively against Marco’s force and then freezing and trembling in place in turns.

He was scrawny, swimming in oversized jeans and shirt. Nacho probably had thirty or forty pounds on him, even though the slave was only an inch shorter than him. He had a short mop of hair, was clean-shaved and otherwise well-kept, admissibly handsome if too young-looking, maybe eighteen.

The slave overcame the terror freezing him enough to beg for his life. “I’ll do anything you want,” he began.

“Shut up,” Nacho said.

Leonel had the Tahoe idling right by the exit, the distant sirens louder, his brows drawn. Marco, dragging the slave by the arm, shoved him into the backseat and climbed in after. As soon as Nacho heaved himself painfully into the passenger’s seat, Leonel took off.

Nacho survived the day. Later, in his little rundown apartment, he caught his breath. The twins had brought the slave in and secured him, since Nacho wasn’t in the condition to do much more than force himself up the stairs and sit, lightheaded, on the couch. He didn’t know what he was going to do with a slave. He had a mountain of his own shit to deal with, starting with trying not to die of a gunshot wound to his abdomen, and not getting killed by Fring, or by the Salamancas, and keeping both of them away from his father. 

But he had a slave now anyway, trussed up in rope from the twin’s trunk, looking at him like he was God and the devil at once.


End file.
